Another Day, Another Disaster
by Jacquelin Sparrow
Summary: What happens when you have too many Johnny characters in one house?


It was a cold day, and he'd nowhere to go. Come the night, when things became even colder, he'd still nowhere to go. It wasn't that Edward didn't know how to survive; he'd done that for nigh on twenty years before the incident with the Boggs. The fact was, he wasn't certain how to perform in the outside world. His little trek to Suburbia had only served to show him that people in general feared and hated what they did not understand. Oh, there were those few exceptions such as Peg and –Edward sighed a little- Kim. But, by and large, all that that brief debacle had taught the silent misfit was to avoid other human beings.

Thus, when he decided to leave his mansion and see more of the world, Edward was at something of a disadvantage. He wasn't certain where he wanted to go, and even had he been, he didn't know how to get there. Of course, his new inhibitions forbade him from asking. More than anything else, he hated the look of confusion and horror on people's faces when they recognized his differences.

So, when Edward began his travels, he simply began walking down the road in his stiff, cautious manner, and stringently avoided human contact. Until the night when it simply became too cold.

It wasn't just the cold that finally defeated him. It was also the hunger, the thirst and…the loneliness. In his mansion, Edward could hear and see some of Suburbia's comings and goings and remember the people he'd met. There was something to keep his mind occupied. Here, in the middle of a mountain range he had no name for, there was no one to observe. Unless, of course, you counted the wildlife, but Edward didn't.

So, on that cold night, the man with the scissorhands wedged himself into the tightest niche he could find and fell blissfully to sleep. If not for luck, and possibly an intervention from the Great Man Upstairs, it might have been the last time Edward closed his eyes. But, that Great Man was with Edward, and just about at sunset, a truck with very bright headlights came coursing down the little mountain road.

Now, _truck_ may be generous in describing this vehicle. Let us say, instead, _tin maraca_, and perhaps we have a closer description. Having that new adjective, one will not wonder why the generously-named truck fell ill and refused to go any further, right in front of Edward's makeshift camp. The automobile coughed, sputtered, and ran down with a breathy sigh, causing the driver to leap from her seat with verve and say several things to the truck that were rather undeserved.

She was a young woman, with a heart much kinder than her tongue, and had no aptitude at all with things mechanical. She was dressed like a country girl headed for town, in a clean set of jeans, boots, and a cozy sweater nestled under bright flannel. Her cedar-colored hair was caught back in a handkerchief that allowed the wavy ends to swing and bounce when the girl moved. She was stronger than her stature might have suggested, and had more spit and vinegar than the kind blue eyes at first conveyed. At present, all suggestion of both spit and vinegar was in full evidence.

The young woman gave an innocent tire a hearty kick before snatching a flashlight out of the cab. Flicking the thing on, she circled the truck, murmuring rude invective under her breath and trying desperately to remember how to open the hood. The girl could mow a lawn, refinish a cabinet, or bake a mean cherry pie, but cars were an enigma to her. That was Mort's area of expertise, when he wasn't buried up to his eyeballs in bits of viciously edited manuscript. Which, he probably was at the moment, never mind the hour. He wouldn't be happy with the caretaker's niece calling him out of an inspiration high to rescue her from a night in the Rockies, but it couldn't be helped. Sands was the only other person in the house qualified to drive a car, and blind people are discouraged from such things.

She drew out her cell phone, thanking the aforementioned Great Man that she had service, and leaned against her recalcitrant truck to make the call. As she moved, her flashlight caught something…something that glinted. Something metal.

The phone began to ring as the woman crept toward the glinting thing; she jumped when Mort answered.

"What?" he asked acerbically. The girl grimaced.

"Mort, it's Elise. I'm on…" she checked the road number and repeated it to him, "and our derelict finally gave up the ghost."

Speaking of ghosts…the light came upon a face. An impossibly pale face. An impossibly pale face that undoubtedly belonged to the glinting things…were those scissors? Were those the man's _hands_?

On the phone, Elise heard Mort sigh heavily. "Okay, all right. Are you hurt at all?"

"No, just stranded. But you might want to hurry all the same; I found someone who looks like he could really use our help."

"Another stray, huh, Lissa?"

Elise smiled at his nickname for her. "Yeah; it's an addiction I guess. How long you figure it'll take you to get here?"

"Half an hour, tops. Less, if I speed."

"Make it half an hour," Elise cautioned him. "The last thing you need is to be pulled over and run through a police scanner."

"Right. See you in a few."

"Kay. Buh-bye."

She clicked the phone closed and stuffed it in her pocket, edging closer to the sleeping man. At least, she hoped he was sleeping. She desperately hoped that he wasn't…

"Please don't be dead," she whispered, cautiously reaching out a hand to touch the pale, scarred face. As her hand made contact, the eyes opened. Elise jumped as the dark orbs gazed at her wildly. One of the deadly hands reached for her, and she recoiled again, until she realized his gesture wasn't meant to be threatening. He was reaching out for help.

"Cold," he whispered, in an odd, tenor voice. Elise nodded.

"I bet you are. Hang on," she whispered, and dashed back to the truck. A moment later, she was back carrying a reflective space blanket. She shook it out and began to slide him from his niche when he pulled away, his eyes terrified.

"I won't hurt you," Elise murmured, smiling a little. "I want to get you warm." Her voice was soothing, he reflected, a low hum that filled him with a sense of safety. Her manner reminded him a bit of Peg's first reactions to him, except…this woman was a little different. She _understood_ him somehow.

Edward allowed her to pull him onto the burm and wrap the shiny blanket around him. She hesitated a little as she pulled it over his hands; not, Edward thought, because she feared them, but because she wanted to cover all of him without damaging the fabric. Feebly, he helped her by lacing the blades together.

"Thanks," she said softly, finishing her work. Then, to his shock, she scootched around behind him to prop him up with her body. Leaning against a tire, Elise let Edward use her for a pillow, hoping her body heat would restore him faster.

"Someone's coming for us," she whispered, "we'll be safe and warm, soon. It's gonna be okay, but you gotta stay awake." Elise feared another lapse into sleep could be the death of him. "What's your name?"

"Edward," Edward rasped.

"I'm Elise," Elise told him. Edward nodded against her shoulder, but remained silent. Elise realized this man probably wasn't much of a talker. _Well, of course not. Who knows how he's been treated in the past, or how much human interaction he's had. By the way he reacted to you he may as well have been…_Elise bit her bottom lip, thinking about some of the cruelties Edward may have had to endure. It was a good thing, she decided, that it was Mort and not Sands that was coming to get them. _Sands could damage the psyche of an egomaniac in ten seconds flat. It's a good thing he won't be able to see Edward. _

Elise felt Edward's head going limp.

"Eddie!" she said sharply, and his head jerked. "Eddie, stay with me! You've gotta stay awake only…" she checked her watch, "ten more minutes. You can do it."

_Stay with me._ Edward felt his breath catch in his throat. No one had ever asked him to do that before. They'd made demands upon him, yelling at him to go one place or another, leading him about like a small dog. But never a request like this. Edward vowed he would fulfill her appeal as well as he could. He forced his eyes open wider than usual.

Not much later, a dark jeep pulled up behind the truck, headlights blinding the two pedestrians.

"Lissa?" Mort called walking around the truck. "Where are you?"

"Here, Mort," Elise called back, gently easing from under Edward. She kept an arm behind him for support. He eyed her wildly.

"It's okay, Eddie," she whispered. "Mort's here to help."

The writer came to them, the jeep's headlights lighting him up from behind and catching his wild hair in a dark blond halo. He knelt on the other side of Edward, smiling a little.

"It's all right, buddy," he said, "no one's gonna hurt you. Gimme a hand, I'll help you up."

"Um, Mort?" Elise caught Edward's worried look. "He can't."

"Why? Is he too weak?"

"No," she said and slowly removed the space blanket. Edward shuddered, and not just from the cold. He'd been through this many times; people seeing his deformity and being frightened, shocked, angry. He braced himself for this man's reaction.

Morton Rainey gasped as the long, deadly appendages were revealed. He frowned in thought, wondering who could do such a thing to a person. _I'd never even think to write about anything like this,_ he thought, scrutinizing the pale face bordered by the shaggy dark hair. Other than the hands, the guy was just a scared kid, not much older than Lissa, he'd guess. _Like Mary Shelley's _Frankenstine, _but this 'monster' has a soul._

Mort crouched next to the man. "What's your name?" he asked. Edward swallowed.

"Edward," he whispered. Mort nodded, and quirked his mouth in half a smile.

"I'm Mort, and nobody's gonna hurt you. Look, I'm gonna have to pick you up, because you don't look like you can stand. Don't be nervous; it'll just be for a minute, and I'll put you in the car."

Edward shuddered a little –Elise was beginning to realize this was an expression of uncertainty- and looked to Elise. Clearly, he trusted her already.

"Lissa will be with you the whole time," Mort assured the younger man. Carefully, he placed an arm around Edward's back and slid the other beneath the man's knees before rising. Mort grunted a little, finding Edward to be a little heavier than he thought. _Kid's got some meat on his bones_.

"All right, to the car," Mort murmured, and Lissa went ahead, opening the back door so that Mort could slide Edward in. Elise slipped in beside him, grinning comfortably.

"Now, you can sleep," she whispered, pulling a stray pillow from the passenger seat and placing it in her lap. She guided Edward's head to the pillow, combing shaggy hair from his eyes as they closed at last. Mort plopped into the driver's seat and turned up the heat a little more, glancing at the pair in the back seat.

"Where'd you find _him_?" Mort asked, an eyebrow cocked.

"Out in the open," Elise said, a sharpness in her voice. "He was terrified of me, at first. I don't know what's happened to him in the past, but…" she glanced at the blades resting peacefully on the seat, "Poor guy."

"Well, he doesn't seem terrified of you anymore," Mort said with amusement. Elise shot him a glare. He changed the subject. "What will the others think, I wonder?"

Elise shrugged. "They have no call to be prejudiced. Ichabod'll probably faint" –Mort snorted in agreement- "Jack…well, Jack will be Jack and offer him rum…"

"And Sands?" Mort met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. Elise shook her head.

"Sands will treat Edward the same way he treats everyone. Abusively. And that's what I'm worried about."

"At least he can't see him," Mort muttered. "Aunt Emmaline will welcome him with open arms," he added. Elise smiled.

"Of course! If she can endure a hunted felon" –Mort snorted once again- "a perpetually drunken pirate, a faint-hearted murder investigator, and an eyeless CIA agent with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, this will be nothing."

"A man with scissors for hands," Mort murmured. "What'll we find next?"

Edward awoke slowly, uncertain of his surroundings. He was lying on something very soft and warm, which simply couldn't be because he remembered going to sleep in a stone niche. Then, it all flooded back to him. Elise, the shiny blanket, Mort…Elise. Edward smiled a little. He had learned early on that only very special people were that kind to others. Elise was surely very special.

He sat up carefully, keeping his hands well away from the comforter laid atop him. It was only then that he noticed that his ever-present leather suit was gone! In its place was a set of flannel pajamas, similar to those loaned him by the Boggs. But, those had been worn over his suit, he'd never felt the material next to his skin. Edward rolled his shoulders, deciding he liked the softness and freedom.

He inspected his surroundings with interest, noting the pleasantness of the wood floors and log walls. A large window to the right let in light and gave him a view of the forest beyond. There was a small chest and dresser along the same wall, along with a bookshelf. Across from the end of the bed was a desk with a small mirror over it. Edward could just see his reflection. His brow wrinkled in shock.

Someone had obviously bathed him. His hair was still as wild as ever, but the mass was shiny and flopped smoothly over his scalp. The tiniest of pleased smiles appeared on his dark lips. He liked this.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened and a plump, pleasant woman bustled in.

"Oh, good, lovely, our arrival is awake!" she said, a grin forming dimples on her rounded cheeks. Small glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and gray hair lay in a plait wrapped around her head.

"Good morning," Edward murmured shyly. He wanted to be polite. The woman grinned again.

"So, he does speak," she said happily. "Mort and Elise weren't certain you could say more than your name. I'm teasing you, of course, dear. I'm Emmaline Granger, but everyone here calls me Aunt Emmaline, whether they're related or not!" she chuckled a bit here. "It was my niece, Elise, and our resident author, Mort Rainey who brought you in last night." She bustled about the room as she spoke, opening the curtains and arranging things on the tray she'd brought with her.

"I daresay," she continued, "it was a good thing that old truck gave up the ghost when it did, otherwise Elise never would have found you. Poor dear, here you must be starving!" Aunt Emmaline set the tray on small legs over Edward's lap. She never mentioned nor glanced at his hands, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have razor blades sprouting from one's wrists. Edward liked her a great deal.

"Now, I've brought you eggs and toast and hot oatmeal, and some tea and orange juice. I want you to try and eat it all, but I'm not one to force feed anybody –despite what the others may tell you-" a small chuckle, here, "so if you get full you just say so, a'right?"

Edward nodded, and opened his mouth for the bite of eggs Aunt Emmaline was steering in his direction. Normally, it felt a little odd for anyone to have to feed him, but Aunt Emmaline's easy manner and stream of pleasant talk distracted him nicely. The food was very good, too. Even the oatmeal, which Edward had eyed askance at first. He did manage to eat it all, with gusto, and awarded Aunt Emmaline with a rare grin.

"Thank you," he said, "you're very kind."

Emmaline seemed to find this amusing, too, and patted his shoulder affectionately.

"Now," she said, "if you're tired, you go ahead and sleep some more, but if you'd rather explore your new home –that's right, child, your home for as long as you want it- I'll help you hop into some day clothes and find someone to give you the grand tour. I'd do it myself, but I've got lunch to make for five hungry men."

"I think I'd like to explore," Edward told her, and she smiled and helped him dress. She then led him down a few short flights of stairs to a spacious kitchen, where Edward was very pleased to find Elise. She smiled happily when she saw him, divested her hands of the flour from the dough she'd been working, and came over to grip his shoulders in greeting.

"It's good to see you up and about!" she said happily. "I suppose I'm your tour guide for the day, then?" Her eyes sought the approval of her aunt. Emmaline nodded.

"Yes, I suppose I can finish this on my own, since the others have disappeared. Except for dear Mr. Rainey. We all know where he is, but we daren't disturb him. Those artsy types are so temperamental." This fact, however, didn't seem to disturb her at all. Aunt Emmaline seemed perpetually cheerful, like a living ray of sunshine.

Elise laced her arm through Edward's elbow, and gently led him around the cabin. He soon learned it was more of a log castle than an actual cabin, with rooms for music, watching television, a small library, as well as many others, including Mort's study. On the door was a sign that read: DISTURB ON PAIN OF EXTREME PERTERBATION OF THE OCCUPANT HEREIN.

"Mort is an author," Elise explained. "When he gets a story in his head, he needs a quiet place free of interruption to work it all out. Before he got that office, I thought he was going to murder the others."

"Others?" Edward swallowed. He wasn't aware there were others in the house, although Aunt Emmaline's comment about lunch should have tipped him off. The man was suddenly nervous. So far, everyone he'd met was inordinately kind. But, Edward knew all too well there was more than one kind of person in the world.

"Yep. Three others, to be precise. And here's one now!" They had stepped outside during their exploration into a grand green patch of ground interspersed with paths of flowers, vegetables, and other plant life. A small patch of corn stood off by itself, next to the window Elise said led into Mort's study.

Next to a stand of delphiniums, a dark-haired man in formal dress stood rather stiffly, apparently contemplating the sky.

"Ichabod!" Elise called. "How goes the pondering today?"

The man turned with a pleasant look on his handsome face, freezing when he saw Elise's companion.

"It goes…well, I suppose. Is this…this is our new arrival?" his voice caught in something like a squeak on the last word as his eyes widened considerably.

"Yes, this is Edward. Edward, this is Inspector Ichabod Crane. He investigates things."

"What sort of things do you investigate?" Edward asked, tilting his head. Ichabod shifted uncomfortably.

"Mostly things of an arcane nature, which require a certain type of mind. A mind that can, in fact, take in all possibilities, whether or not they seem plausible to others." His manner of speech was formal, eloquent and precise. Edward envied his way with words, but not his nervous nature.

"That's very interesting," Edward told him. Ichabod managed a tight smile.

"Thank you."

"Oh, Ichabod," Elise said suddenly. "Mechanics is one of your fortes, correct?"

"Indeed, you know it is."

Elise looked at Edward, her eyes very bright. "Would you mind allowing Ichabod to have a look at your hands? He might be able to help you…if you want, that is."

"I'd like that, very much," Edward said, with more conviction than she had yet seen in him. He held out a hand to Ichabod, who stiffened and stepped away, only to frown in concentration and take the contraption into his own hands.

"Most interesting, indeed," he murmured, and reached for Edward's sleeve. "May I?" Edward nodded, so Ichabod unbuttoned the sleeve and examined how the hand connected to the rest of the appendage.

"This is quite fascinating!" Ichabod said excitedly. "I'd like to have a closer look at these later on, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Edward told him. "Do you think you can help me?"

Ichabod finally smiled, a welcome sight, indeed. "There is a chance, old boy. I will certainly do my best. Good day, Elise," he bowed slightly in her direction. "Don't overwork our new arrival on his first day!"

"Good day, Ichabod. I shall also do my best!" she replied. The pair moved on, inspecting the rest of the outdoors, which proved to be beautifully landscaped, but ill maintained.

"Uncle Paul used to tend all of this," Elise said quietly, "but after he died, no one quite had the touch he did. They were so beautiful." Her face closed for a moment in a bout of sadness; Edward frowned, vowing he would make that look appear as little as possible.

"Elise, love!" a slurred, accented voice rose above the hum of bumblebees as a very strangely dressed man in a tricorne hat swaggered seemingly out of nowhere.

"How is my favorite farming lass, today?" the man asked, tottering up to them and slinging an arm easily about Elise's shoulders. The woman smiled and returned his hug.

"I'm the only farming lass you know, Jack," she reminded him, "and I'm doing swimmingly. How about yourself?"

"Splendid, love, just splendid as only a pirate can be!" He caught sight of Edward, and cocked his head, swaying slightly. "'Ello, chap, I don't believe we've met. I'm _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, lately of the _Black Pearl_, and you are…?"

"Edward," Edward murmured. Jack grinned, revealing several gold teeth.

"He speaks! I would offer to shake your hand, mate, but it might prove unhealthy for me sword hand, you understand. Ye'd make one blast of a good pirate wi' those togs, though." His eyes shifted between Elise and Edward, his gaze settling on their linked arms.

"I see ye wasted no time in findin' yerself a girl, either," Jack said, leaning in conspiratorially, "Ye're not a eunuch, though, are ye?"

Edward frowned, about to ask what a eunuch was, when Elise wisely intervened.

"Jack isn't just a pirate," she explained quickly, "he also takes care of the small vineyard attached to the property."

Once again, the shiny grin made an appearance. "Alcohol's me specialty," he said proudly. "At least, after piracy and…wooing the ladies." This with a suggestive grin in Elise's direction. She smiled indulgently, sighing.

"Pay him no attention, Eddie. Not _all_ women flock to his door, despite his tales to the contrary."

"What's a eunuch?" Edward asked. Elise closed her eyes in defeat.

"'S a man wi' no raisins, mate," Jack told him. "Ye know what raisins are, don't ye? They're humiliated grapes…"

"Come on Eddie, there's still a lot to see!" Elise said cheerily, dragging poor Edward away from Jack's potentially corruptive conversation.

"We'll talk more later, savvy?" Jack said with a wink. Edward gave him a bemused look.

"Okay."

Elise pulled the man into a hasty retreat.

"The people here seem very nice," Edward said suddenly, surprising his companion. It was the first unprompted thing he'd said.

"They are," Elise answered, "for the most part. Everyone in this manor has their quirks, but we all get along just fine."

"How did you all come to be here?"

Elise shook her head. "That's a story for a time when we've hours to waste," she said wryly. "How did you come to be…where you were, last night?" She asked this slowly, wary that he may not want to talk about his past. That had been common enough with the others, save Jack, whose past was probably less colorful than he claimed.

"I think we'd need hours for that one, too," Edward told her. Elise nodded, figuring as much. She led him to the large, wrap-around porch where she thought they could rest for a while –Edward was beginning to slow, although he kept silent- and stopped short. Sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs with a pitcher of iced tea on the table next to him and casually holding a cigarette was Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, formerly of the CIA. From the looks of his ashtray, he'd been at this for some time. _Aunt Emmaline shooed him out early today._

Sands turned his head in their general direction, his sunglasses glinting eerily.

"That you, Elise?" he asked. Elise paused; this was the introduction she'd been dreading.

"Yeah, Sands, it's me."

"Good. Last person to come around that corner was Sir Tight-Arse, babbling about some paranormal crap that had him stumped." Sands took a drag on his cigarette. "Like I cared, or something."

"Who's Sir Tight-Arse?" Edward asked, highly confused. How could a person get such a strange name?

"Ichabod," Elise said succinctly. "He and Sands…don't get along."

Sands tossed them a humorless grin. "That's right, sugarbutt. I don't play well with others. Speaking of which, who's with you? The new freak you brought in last night?"

Elise felt Edward stiffen next to her; his eyes were dark with anger and sadness. She could have torn Sands' eyes out…if someone hadn't done it already.

"Some people," she answered acerbically, "might call a man with no eyes freakish. As for your question, yes, our new arrival is with me. His name is Edward."

Sands raised a salutary hand. "Hello, Ed. So, they tell me you've got scissors for hands. Makes some things pretty difficult, doesn't it? For instance, it would be pretty hard to-"

"_Sheldon_," Elise snapped. "For once, be nice. Just because you had a crappy lot doesn't mean you have to take it out on everyone else."

"Says who?" Sands asked, smirking. Elise stepped up to him and plucked his cigarette from his fingers, stamping it out under her heel.

"I do. Would you care to do something about it?"

Sands remained silent. Elise turned back to Edward.

"Don't listen to anything he says," she whispered. "He's like that with everyone except Aunt Emmaline and Jack. C'mon, why don't we go inside and see if we can help with lunch."

"Nice meeting you, Razorblades," Sands quipped as they passed by. Edward's blades twitched and snipped the air with agitation. That man reminded him all too well of Jim, and Jim was dead now. Edward didn't want anything to happen that would cause him to lose this home, as well.

As they entered the kitchen a door in the hallway opened, releasing the odor of stale tobacco and the harried visage of Morton Rainey. He tossed the pair a brief smile, and rummaged in the fridge, emerging with a can of Mountain Dew.

"Oh, Mort," Emmaline said, sniffing the air, "I do wish you would smoke outside."

Mort frowned. "I don't smoke."

"Then I kindly ask that you switch to a different cologne," Emmaline rejoined primly. Elise snorted. It was well known that Mort was as bad a nicotine-junkie as Sands, if not worse. He just stringently refused to admit it.

"How's the novel coming?" Elise asked. Mort sighed contentedly.

"Chapter twenty-three, page two-hundred and forty-eight, and about five more chapters to go. At this rate I should be finished well before my deadline."

"Great! How about helping me set the table in celebration?"

Mort eyed the young woman askance for a moment before pulling out plates with a long-suffering mien. "I'd hate to see what you'll make me do if this one's a best-seller."

Elise smiled mysteriously. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"Watch out for her, Edward," Mort told the young man. "She's much more dangerous than she looks."

Edward smiled a little, catching the humor in Mort's voice.

"How was your tour of the manor, dear?" Emmaline asked him. "Did Elise tire you out?"

"It was nice," Edward said. "You have a lovely home."

Emmaline dimpled. "Thank you, dear. Did you meet everyone? Were they pleasant?"

"Yes…Ichabod and Jack seem very pleasant," Edward said diplomatically. He didn't want to incur Aunt Emmaline's disapproval because he disliked one of her residents.

"You didn't meet Sands, yet, did you?" Mort asked grimly. "That man could curdle milk just by looking at it…well, I guess, not anymore…" He coughed covering a laugh. "Maybe that's why he lost his eyes."

Edward's blades began snipping at the air again. "I met him."

"We caught him in a good mood, actually," Elise put in. "No cursing, today."

Aunt Emmaline shook her head. "Don't you worry about him," she said firmly. "Underneath that steel exterior is a person with the same weaknesses as everybody else. Pay him no mind."

A few minutes later, the other residents began to filter into the house; it was as if they had a sixth sense that there was food available. Jack swaggered in first, kissed Aunt Emmaline on the cheek, asked Elise to run away with him, and settled into a seat next to Mort with an air of languid superiority. Ichabod followed him, greeting Aunt Emmaline and Elise in a cordial fashion, and sat straight-backed on Mort's other side. Last, Sands made his entrance, trailing cigarette smoke ("Sheldon, put that offensive thing out!") and sauntering slowly. He was attempting to look care-free, but really only wanted to avoid bumping into anything. This was unsuccessful, as he barked his shins on the table bench.

Clenching his teeth, the man found Elise's shoulder, and sat down on her right, while Edward claimed the space to her left. Aunt Emmaline took the head of the table, slapping Jack's fingers as he reached for a platter of food.

"We thank the Lord for our blessings in this house, Mr. Sparrow, you know that," she scolded gently. Jack had the grace to look sheepish, but ruined the effect by murmuring, "It's _Captain_ Sparrow."


End file.
